


Gladly Beyond Any Experience, Your Eyes Have Their Silence

by niklitera



Series: Nobody, Not Even the Rain, Has Such Small Hands [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Coming out of the Closet, Dorks in Love, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Transphobia, Jacob is a dork, M/M, Ned is defensive, Period-Typical Homophobia, these two dorks i swear, very brief mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niklitera/pseuds/niklitera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jacob Frye's opinion of Ned Wynert had changed quite a lot over time, yet he did not think the man had changed at all. That was, until he heard a shout of his name and looked back to see said man jumping out of a third story window.</p><p>(Or, that one fic where Ned is forced to come out of the closet and Jacob decides gin is the best way to get over it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gladly Beyond Any Experience, Your Eyes Have Their Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Not even a day. NOT EVEN A DAY. I'M SUPPOSED TO BE STUDYING, I'VE GOT TWO GODDAMN EXAMS BUT I WAS SO GIDDY ABOUT POSTING THIS.

 

Ned Wynert did not trust people.

 

Jacob knew this - and thoroughly. Through the many months he'd spent in the city of London, Ned had been the only constant thing in his life, the only one to never change. He was charming with possible clients, grouchy with everyone else, still held an American accent, still someone they could easily trust and still someone who would rather die before betraying any of the Assassins.

 

But as much as Ned hadn't changed, Jacob's perspective of him had.

 

It'd started on the very same day he'd seen the thief for the first time, but it settled into his very bones as Ned looked at him from that damned police box, defeat in his eyes.

 

"So what do you want, Frye?" he'd asked.

 

Jacob had wished to ask him for quite a lot of things. A kiss. An embrace. A couple of drinks, perhaps, or a roll on the hay, as some might put it crudely. Maybe even a simple touch of his hand upon his face, but Jacob had soon shaken his head and pulled up his infamous barrier of 'there is absolutely nothing wrong with me' before Ned could notice his longing gaze and twitchy fingers.

 

Halfway between stunned and amused, that was how Jacob Frye felt whenever he found himself in the presence of the strange American thief. That day had actually changed quite a lot of things. Mainly, how Jacob approached Ned now.

 

Evie looked about to question it, sometimes (like how she did with bloody everything that involved him), how he'd do all of the dirty work the enterpreteur asked of them, did it on the spot, quickly and without the usual mishaps that came along whenever Jacob had to... retrieve something. There were no explosions, nobody was killed, and maybe a few Blighters were knocked out but he knew if anything, Ned would be delighted.

 

Jacob then found himself hovering over him when he stepped inside the train, or when Evie and him found him walking through the streets of London, supposedly trying to be discreet until the male assassin took it upon himself to poke fun at the slighter man. And Evie didn't question it, didn't give him hell about it because she was a saint and he had told her when they were teenagers and she had understood. Understood like no one could, like Jacob had never imagined. 

 

So yes, Jacob's perspective had changed. It had changed that morning, when he woke up and saw a letter for him, explaining some business Ned needed to speak about. It had changed as he entered the luxious house in the outskirts of Whitechapel and Ned had barked at him to 'mind the goddamn carpet' with his 'fucking muddy boots, Frye'. It had changed when they sat on his office, when Ned had chuckled at something stupid Jacob had said, and it definitely changed when, as they said goodbye because of some important people arriving at Ned's doorstep, the assassin saw a small smile curling on his plump lips. 

 

Yet he didn't think Ned had changed at all. No, he thought the businessman would forever remain a grouchy, sailor-mouth, untrusting man for the rest of his life.

 

Until he heard the window crashing and the desperate call of his name.

 

"JACOB!"

 

And he, assassin instincts kicking in, turned around towards the window where the scream had come from, seeing Ned flying into the air with wide eyes and his arms spread open for him to gather. Without even thinking, Jacob used the tool installed on the mechanism of his hidden blade and hooked a rope to the ceiling of the obscenely big house, lifting his body into the air to grasp his ally and friend around his tiny waist and save him before his body splattered against the ground.

 

They rolled on top of the roof, the thief gasping for air desperately as Jacob pulled down his hood and moved to the edge immediately, using his eagle vision. If the ones who had pushed him out were still inside - 

 

"No, no, wait!" Ned hissed, but the assassin ignored him, listening into the conversation that drifted from the third floor window, Ned's office. To his surprise, the female and male had American accents. 

 

"I can't believe she jumped out of the window!"

 

"But she's not on the ground, how did she do it?"

 

"You know she was always good at hiding," the male sighed, and Jacob was still trying to grasp at the constant information he was being fed. 

 

"Netta's good at hiding, but she can't hide forever. At least we know now where she was after all this time..."

 

"She cut her hair, Steve!" the woman cried out and Jacob then heard the sharp inhale of a breath behind him, too loud not to notice. "Her precious hair! And those men's clothes! She can't possibly keep this up!"

 

He turned around, expecting Ned to be furious, to be angered, only to find him (...her?) with his back against the chimney, hair in disarray and spectacles missing. He had his knees drawn to his chest, breathing heavily and looking more than a little lost when his eyes met Jacob's.

 

"Now you know," was the first thing that came out of his throat - strangled, choked out like it had been sitting under his tongue for too long. Jacob was still looking at him when his expression turned from miserable to angry. Jacob was about to speak when he croaked out before: "Just - just get me out of here, okay? I don't want to see those two."

 

"Alright," Jacob replied very softly, standing and offering a hand at the... man. Woman. Hell if he knew. He did not expect, though, for his hand to be brutally slapped away, the American struggling to stand as he glared deeply at the assassin like he never had before. The youngest Frye almost flinched.

 

"I can stand fine on my own!" he snapped. "I'm not a damsel in distress, Frye! I can do things on my fucking own just fine!"

 

"Alright," the younger twin repeated. "We'll go to the train. Take care of those cuts and that nasty gash you got on your forehead."

 

Ned's hand slapped over his face, and when he pulled it back he winced. Indeed, there was a bleeding wound on his forehead, and Jacob was worried, yes, even if it seemed small and head wounds bled quite a lot. He kept his silence, though, and they were quick to leave before that American couple could find them.

 

The walk to the assassin base was quiet, uncomfortable, and Jacob wished to make a joke to take the weight off from the air around them. Ned was positively spooked, jumping at every sound and glaring at everyone who dared to cast a quick look at the usually composed enterpreteur. Jacob fought off the urge to engulf Ned in a warm embrace to assure him that, whatever it was, it was alright. It was alright, it really was.

 

So when they entered the station and boarded the train, Jacob began to speak to the crew.

 

"Alright, listen up!" he called, and everyone turned to their boss, quite a couple of Rooks looking excited. But no, there was no time for a fight. "I've got an important business to attend to with Mr. Wynert and I need you all out of this train for a couple of ours. Have a beer, get tight as a boiled owl, I don't really care, I just want this train cleared!"

 

Everyone, at the thought of a full night off, immediately scrambled out of the wagons - except, of course, Evie and Henry, who approached him with quick steps. At first, Evie had a sort of devilish smile on her face, and he embarrassedly remembered that night a few weeks ago when he'd confessed how much he truly fancied Ned. But then she saw the thief and gasped.

 

"Mr. Wynert!" she cried out, approaching him rapidly. Ned almost fell to the floor in his haste to get away from her, and Jacob took her shoulder in hand, the other one pushing against Henry's chest before he could move closer, too. "Jacob?"

 

"It's important business," he told her slowly, trying to convey everything he wanted in his eyes. She frowned, and looked once more at the businessman. Jacob closed his eyes briefly. "Please, Evie."

 

"Of course," she told him softly, squeezing affectionately the hand on her shoulder before she stepped out of the wagon, calling for Henry. The Indian assassin hesitated, and then sent Ned a little smile and a nod, following Jacob's twin sister out.

 

For a moment, no one moved a muscle. Then Jacob looked at the wall and saw Ned shaking, rubbing his arms. Ah, yes, those expensive suits did nothing against the Autumn cold of London. Acting quickly, Jacob moved around the main wagon, taking a box with medical supplies and a thick blanket he and Evie liked to use on these colder days.

 

"Come on," he urged the man (again, woman? This was all so very confusing!). "Sit down."

 

"I'm not a dog," Ned narrowed his eyes. "I'm a fucking person, Frye."

 

"Would you be so kind as to take a seat so I can tend to that nasty wound on your forehead, please?" there wasn't a hint of sarcasm, but endless patience which seemed to baffle Ned. He complied, though grumpily so, making a little smile appear over Jacob's lips. "This will sting."

 

"I fucking know, you idiot," Ned told him, defiantly holding his stare until Jacob broke it in order to clean the wound. Ned hissed. "Fuck you."

 

"You seem to be in an awful mood," Jacob chuckled at last and christ, how could somebody's hair be this soft? He quickly sobered up when Ned ouched the next time he pressed the cotton against the gash. "Look, Ned, I know you're a private guy."

 

"Damn straight," he hised between his teeth.

 

"I want to know what just happened," the assassin pressed, ignoring the comment. "Who was that couple? What did they want from you? Why did they call you Nett -"

 

"Don't fucking say that name!" Ned broke out and Jacob leaned back in surprise, blue eyes widening as he saw the tiny figure before him suddenly unravel. "For christ's sake, Jacob, fine! Do you want to know? Do you want to fucking know?!"

 

"Ned -" he tried but Ned stood, shoving the blanket away from him, facing him in full short height and breathing heavily from his nose.

 

"I am not a man!" he shouted, and the echo of his statement reverberated through the train right into Jacob's lungs. "I'm - I'm a man inside a woman's body, alright?! I was born a girl and I thought I was one until I realized I wasn't! So I dressed as a boy, went out with criminals so I wouldn't want to shoot myself in the head and eventually ran away from goddamn America and come to England With absolutely no one knowing me by that horrid name!"

 

That... explained a lot of things.

 

His inability to be indebted to someone, for example. Those winces, flinches whenever someone was close or someone touched him. The seemingly cold air that hung around him whenever someone mentioned the asylum or when someone asked about his family. 

 

"So if you're going to say something, then say it now!" Ned kept shouting, but Jacob was slowly nodding to himself. Really, it all made sense now. Thank God Ned was a man, though. He'd felt slighhtly awkward just thinking that he'd fallen for a woman in the strangest of the ways. "Say it, Frye! I want you to speak your goddamn mind like you always do and don't you hold back on me! I am Ned Wynert! A thief, an enterpreteur and a man just like any other!"

 

He was panting by the end of his little speech, and the assassin took the time to take him in - was that why he was so skinny? So he could properly hide his breasts? He rarely ate, Jacob knew because he's seen the multiple cold trays of food left by his butler, in his office. Each time Jacob had asked, he'd glared. Ned always glared whenever someone asked about his personal life.

 

Now he knew. Now he understood. Now he could see and Christ, could he see so clearly. His height, his voice, all which he had dismissed as merely American queerness - and didn't Jacob feel so daft now?

 

But still, he... he cared. It didn't matter to him. God knew he'd seen the kind of people who truly deserved to go to Hell, and Ned wasn't one of them. He truly believed it. 

 

So he stood from his seat, now hovering over him, took the blanket on the carpet, moved so that he could wrap it around Ned's shoulders and gave him a soft smile.

 

"Alright," Jacob said.

 

"W-what?" Ned's fierce features melted away, revealing a very confused and very vulnerable being behind. Jacob fought the urge to pull him to his chest. He was in the perfect position to deliver a kiss to his forehead, too. "I - are you fucking serious?"

 

"Yes," Jacob rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "If, ah, if you must know, I have a secret of my own, which is very well-kept. Evie's the only one who knows, aside from a bunch of blokes who shared the same secret as me."

 

Ned's eyes widened, and he froze a bit before tugging the ends of the blankets closer to him. 

 

"You... like men?" he asked with a frown.

 

"Yes," and wasn't it curious, how this time he felt no shame, no embarrassment, no self-hatred enough to make him immediately leave to get a well-earned drink? Ned did that. Jacob tried to swallow the huge lump that was clogging his throat. "Yes, I do. I like men."

 

"Me, too," Ned whispered. "Both men and women. I thought I - I thought I was a freak. A one-guy-who-stands-alone, y'know?"

 

"No one is alone, Ned," Jacob frowned, then poked his forehead where there was no wound, making the smaller man 'psay 'ouch' and glare at him with surprise. "You, above all, should know that!"

 

"Why so?" he asked drily, but there was a slight anticipation to his words, one that made Jacob grin widely.

 

"You've got me!" he spread his arms wide. "Good ole Jacob Frye!"

 

"I'm older than you," Ned pointed out, but his voice dripped with amusement and Jacob had never felt more accomplished in his life. A sudden, tired look crossed Ned's features, though, and he sighed. "My God, I think I need a drink."

 

"I agree," the assassin told him to sit again, while he roamed around the liquor cabinet. Of course, they were nothing like Ned's expensive collection, one he'd thoroughly enjoyed a few weeks prior, but the drinks were decent enough. Grasping a good bottle of gin, Jacob took the only two clean tumblers avaible and sat right beside Ned, who still winced when he patted him on the thigh. "So who were those people?"

 

"My parents," Ned mumbled, gratefully taking a quick sip of his drink, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "This is good."

 

"I like to please," Jacob joked "Your parents... You said you ran away, right?"

 

"Yeah," Ned stole the bottle from the youngest twin, pouring himself a generous amount. "They came here looking for a deal. They found me instead."

 

"So they threw you out of the window?" Jacob frowned. And he thought he'd had a terrible relationship with his father.

 

"What? No!" Ned shook his head. "I panicked."

 

"So... you jumped out of your window?" he began to laugh, Shoulders shaking. "You panicked and you threw yourself out of a window? What were you planning next, flying to Spain?"

 

"No, you fucking idiot," Ned rolled his eyes and drained his drink again. For one small fellow, he sure could drink. "I knew you'd be there."

 

Jacob paused. Ned frowned immediately at that, then glared when Jacob began to slowly grin widely at him.

 

"Oh, fuck," he groaned.

 

"You trust me," Jacob accused, taking the bottle away. 

 

"Hey! Give me that!" the eldest in the room attempted to recover the glass but Jacob put it away from his reach, above his head. "You little shit!"

 

"Admit it! You trust me!" Jacob laughed happily. "You knew I'd be able to catch you! You trust me with your life! Me!"

 

"Yes, you, I trusted you! Whatever, Frye, don't make such a big deal about it!" Ned punched him in the shoulder, and Jacob finally refilled his glass. "Fucking dimwit. Don't get used to it."

 

"Just so you know, Neddy-boy," Jacob leaned back against the couch and took a swig - right from the bottle. "I trust you, too."

 

He wasn't able to see it, but Ned had taken the time to look at him, blush, and let out a rather relieved smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This ship will drown me.


End file.
